Ghostfinders 03 -Ghost of a Dream

far before they all quit.”
    They all stood awkwardly before the mirror, maintaining a respectful distance while still leaning in to get a better look at what was in the photo. Elizabeth finally reached out a hand to touch the photo, but Happy quickly stopped her.
    “Best not,” he said. “Might be real, might not; might even be booby-trapped.”
    “What?” Benjamin said sharply. “Why would anyone do that?”
    “Ghosts like to play tricks on people,” said Happy. “You don’t get to be a restless spirit by being sane andwell-adjusted. Most ghosts run on bad feelings, or an undying need for revenge on a world that’s moved on and left them behind. So, when in doubt, keep your hands to yourself.”
    They all studied the photo carefully. A standard eight-by-ten, with slightly faded colours, showing a group of actors filling the photo from side to side and from top to bottom. Three rows of five people, cramming themselves in to get everyone in the shot. Smiling and laughing and full of life. A much younger Benjamin and Elizabeth were right down in the front row, grinning broadly, positively glowing with happiness and good cheer. They looked even younger than twenty years allowed, as though life had not yet got its hooks into them. They looked…brighter, sharper, less weighed down by the world. All of the actors in the photo were wearing old-fashioned clothes, costumes from the 1920s. And a hell of a lot of stage make-up, which hopefully hadn’t looked quite so…dramatic, under stage lighting.
    “Costumes and make-up would suggest the photo was taken right after we’d come off stage,” said Benjamin. “If we’d been about to go back on again, we wouldn’t have been so happy and relaxed. No, this looks more like a celebration…”
    “So many familiar faces,” said Elizabeth. “And I can’t put a name to half of them…”
    “This has got to be from when we first started here,” said Benjamin. “But what play was it…?”
    In the photo, the young Benjamin and Elizabeth were sitting on either side of a handsome, striking young man their own age. They both had their arms across hisshoulders. They gave every appearance of being the closest of friends, like they belonged together, and always would.
    “Who…is that?” said Happy, pointing without touching.
    “That…is Alistair Gravel,” said Elizabeth.
    She and Benjamin looked at each other again. There was a lot going on in that look, a connection Happy could see but not understand. He did see a new sadness in their faces, and a heavy tiredness in their bodies. Elizabeth turned away first, to look at the photo again with an entirely fake bright smile.
    “I know this photo,” she said. “I’ve seen it before. But what play was it?”
    “Got it!” said Benjamin. “That’s from
Dear Brutus
, the J. M. Barrie play. Excellent piece: funny, but very touching, and very thoughtful…”
    “I don’t know it,” said Happy.
    “You wouldn’t,” said Elizabeth. “People only remember Barrie for
Peter Pan
these days, but he was a popular playwright, back in his day. And
Dear Brutus
was a marvellous piece. All about…whatever decisions you make, the real you will always come out.”
    “Yes…” said Benjamin. “I remember.”
    Happy looked carefully at the young man sitting between the young Benjamin and the young Elizabeth. He was definitely their age, mid twenties or so; but he was more handsome than Benjamin and more glamorous than Elizabeth; and his natural charisma easily eclipsed theirs, even in an old photo. His grin was wide and charmingand effortless; the kind most actors have to practice in front of a mirror for hours, before they can risk going on a chat show. But you could tell this look hadn’t been practiced; this was the real thing. He looked as though he had the whole world at his feet. Of all the people in that photo, he was the one you’d naturally point to as most likely to succeed.
    Not Benjamin or Elizabeth.
    “What was his name again?” said Happy.
    “Alistair Gravel,” said Elizabeth, and the fondness and sadness in her voice were very clear in the small room. “We did a lot of good work together.”
    “He was the best of us,” said Benjamin. “A good friend and a great actor.”
    Fondness and sadness and…regret, in his voice, thought Happy.
    “He was the original lead in our play,” said Benjamin. “He would have been magnificent…Everyone thought so. And then he died—suddenly.”
    “An